


An Evening of Deductions

by Brynn_Jones



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynn_Jones/pseuds/Brynn_Jones
Summary: Holmes and Watson spend a pleasant evening with some violin music and deductions.





	

We were sitting in the third row at the local Opera House enjoying a marvellous violin concert, Holmes leaning back in his seat, eyes closed and face formed into an expression of pure bliss, while I kept alternating between watching the skilful violinist and inspecting my friend’s peaceful face. If I was to be honest, which I might just as well be in my own accounts, I enjoyed looking at him just as much as listening to the music. It was a very rare thing for Holmes to look so completely content, his considerable brain quiet for once.

I smiled affectionately at him, before shifting my gaze back to the stage. It was then that I noticed a familiar-looking lady sitting a few rows in front of us.

"Holmes," I whispered, trying to get my friends attention.

He ignored me, though I had no way of knowing whether it was intentional or if he was just so entranced by the music that he hadn’t heard me.

"Holmes,” I tried again, “isn't that Miss Hunter sitting over there? It certainly looks like her."

My friend let out a deep breath. "Watson, I fail to see a reason for you to disturb me. Sit still and enjoy the concert, would you?"

I nodded, feeling sufficiently reprimanded, but I still couldn't help and wonder about the peculiar coincidence of our former client – because I was reasonably sure it _was_ her – being present at the same concert we were. Don’t misunderstand me, had we been in London, the situation wouldn’t be suspicious at all, but as we were currently sitting in the only Opera House in a small industrial town in West Yorkshire, it was peculiar at best.

Miss Hunter was wearing a very nice dark blue evening dress with an ornate high collar and little silver buttons running down the middle. In stark contrast to that, the bottom hem of the garment – which I could see only because Miss Hunter was sitting in an aisle seat – seemed to be slightly dirty. It wasn’t a stretch to assume she hadn’t arrived in a carriage then. The Opera House is just a few paces from the train station though, so she most likely travelled by train.

One question satisfactorily answered, I decided to try and deduce why she was here. As far as I was aware, she didn't have any connections to Yorkshire and she certainly wasn't fond enough of violin to travel two hundred miles to hear it play. There must be some other reason for her presence then.

I ran through my mental list of places she might be visiting – the doctor’s, a lawyer’s office, a bank, a post office – none of which seemed likely. There is no doubt she would be able to find all that and much more back in London.

Holmes shifted in his seat slightly and looked at me exasperatedly. "Watson, stop."

I was confused. "I wasn't doing anything, Holmes."

He pursed his lips. "You were thinking. Rather loudly, if I may say."

I tried not to sound offended. "I was only trying to figure out the reason for Miss Hunter's presence, I apologise for disturbing you."

Holmes smiled at me, a fond look in his bright eyes. "That is quite elementary, my dear friend. Elementary, indeed. She's here for a job interview and decided to spend her free time listening to some quality music. Obvious, if you ask me."

I stared. "Excuse me, obvious?"

Holmes just nodded, closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat again. I was tempted to observe Miss Hunter some more to try and figure out how was Holmes able to arrive to his conclusions but decided against it, in case my loud thinking disturbed him again. I spent the rest of our evening quietly listening to music, mind pleasantly empty.

               

We were getting ready for bed in our hotel room that evening, when I finally lost my patience. "Holmes,” I addressed him exasperatedly, “would you mind telling me how you'd deduced that Miss Hunter was here for a job interview? I fail to see how it was obvious."

My friend chuckled and patted the spot next to where he was sitting on his bed. I sat down where he indicated and looked at him expectantly – I was ready for some answers.

Instead of an explanation, however, I got a question, "What have you deduced so far?"

“Well,” I began hesitantly “I assumed that she arrived by train and then walked to the Opera House, because there were mud splatters on the hem of her dress. I fear that's as far as I got," I finished in embarrassment.

"Good, very good, Watson,” Holmes praised me, “Your observation was very skilful, your deduction, however, was wrong. Had you looked more closely at the pattern of the mud splatter, you'd notice its inconsistence - there _was_ quite a lot of mud on the sides but the most important clue was the vertical dirt splatter on the back of the dress. That is the exact pattern you'd get while riding a bicycle."

"Oh, but surely she hadn't arrived on bicycle,” I protested. “We're good two hundred miles away from London!"

Holmes smiled again patiently. "Of course not, my dear. She came by train just like we did."

"But you just said my conclusion was wrong!"

"No, I said your _deduction_ had been wrong. The splatter on Miss Hunter’s dress in no way reveals the means she used to travel from London,” he explained. “Think about it, Watson, there is no mud on the way from the train station to the Opera House – in fact, the whole town has cobblestone streets. There is only one muddy path in this town, which leads up to the Brixmore Manor and which is the only way to access it. Considering the harsh terrain, your best choice of transportation - if you don't have the change to spare for a carriage - is a bicycle."

I nodded, trying to sort out my thoughts. "But she did come by train?"

Holmes nodded, leaned over me to reach his pipe and held it out to me to light it for him. "Of course,” he agreed, “the stub of her train ticket was still in her glove, when we were sitting at the concert, haven't you noticed?"

I hung my head in embarrassment, not having noticed her gloves at all, and Holmes nudged my shoulder in a friendly show of support.

I gave him a curious look. "Would you tell me now, how you were able to conclude Miss Hunter was here for a job interview?"

"Ha!" Holmes exclaimed happily and leaned against me as if what he was about to tell me was some sort of an intimate secret. "Why else would she go to the Brixton Manor? The only people who live there is a middle-aged widower and his twelve-year-old daughter who is in a desperate need of a tutor. People like that don't socialize unless completely necessary.

“Then take Miss Hunter,” he continued, “her father has recently passed and she's trying to find some stability in her life. Tutoring a young girl would most certainly help her settle, as well as suit her charitable nature."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Your intellect never ceases to amaze me. That was brilliant, my friend. I can’t even begin to imagine how you managed to figure all of that out in such a short period of time."

Holmes smiled softly, a very rare sight on his expressive face, and leaned his head on my shoulder, closing his eyes. "How would you ever learn, if I always explained everything? I’m afraid that’s for me to know and for you to figure out."

I scowled slightly, my shoulder twitching in annoyance underneath my friend’s head. I decided to try and mentally go over our evening in an attempt to find out what I had missed. Our train had arrived at six o'clock and we had decided to take a stroll around town. We had passed the office of the local doctor, a school, a bank and a post office.

I could probably rule out the doctor’s office and the school right away, both of which were closed that evening. Then there was the bank in front of which a group of people was standing and chattering as we went by. If I remembered correctly, they were talking about someone in hushed voices, full of pity. I heard one of the women say something along the lines of, "That poor sod, all alone with little Madeline up on that hill."

I smiled, one mystery solved. They must’ve been talking about the occupants of Brixton Manor, they might have even mentioned the name, I just hadn’t paid enough attention. Now, how did my genius friend, who was now sleeping curled against my side, find out about the tutoring? After we had passed the bank, we had stopped to sit down on a bench in front of the local post office and shared a pair of smokes. I remembered showing Holmes one of the advertisements on the information table right outside of the post building. It had been written by an elderly woman who was searching for an interesting companion to brighten her days. I had laughed then and told Holmes that he would be a perfect candidate, because he certainly fit the description of ‘interesting’, which caused Holmes to laugh in amusement.

"Aha!" I exclaimed aloud, awaking my friend by my sudden outburst. “It was the information table in front of the post office, wasn't it? You saw an advertisement looking for a tutor for little Madeline, didn’t you Holmes?"

My friend chuckled. “I knew you would figure it out by yourself, Watson.”

Warmed by Holmes’ belief in me, I squeezed him against me and pressed my cheek into his hair.


End file.
